Between Fathers and Sons
by Heart Of The Wizard
Summary: One time John couldn't be there for Dean. But only because Sam beat him to it. Preseries.


**A/N: **Well, after leaving all of ya' depressed with my completed **Silent Treatment** story, including myself, and reading over many wonderful PMs and heartfelt reviews that made me want to hug all of you and bake you cookies- I instead decided to write something sweet for once! ;) So here is my gift to you!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural. If I did I would've ended it when Kripke said to.

_Ely, Nevada  
_October 22, 1996

John's feet ached in his worn shoes; he couldn't wait to kick them off. He stretched his arm towards the backseat of his car, his tense back protesting the move as he reached for his bag filled with dirty clothes, a bottle of Jack, and his journal. After the hunt he'd just been on for the past two weeks he'd be up all night unloading his brain into those pages. The cool night air seeped through the holes in his jacket. He needed to patch those soon, John noted as he searched for the keys to their temporary home in his bag. Not now though, right now he just wanted to eat some real food and unwind.

But those thoughts came to an abrupt halt when he opened the front door and was met with a loud groan coming from upstairs. John had only heard that sound twice before, and twice was enough for him, especially when it came to his boys. Taking two steps at a time, John reached the top and nearly burst through the partially open bedroom door, but stopped just in time.

The lights were off, only a table lamp still lit. Below the lamp were bottles of Nyquil and Tylenol, a thermometer, as well as a glass bowl filled with ice and water. Dean was lying in the bed closest to the door, Sam hunched over him.

"Shhh, Dean, go back to sleep," Sam whispered, patting a wet towel over his brother's face. "I'm here."

Dean groaned again, curling onto his side away from John, features twisting into a grimace. Sam rewet the towel in the bowl on the nightstand before placing it over Dean's clenched eyes. Feeling the wonderful coolness against the raging fever within, Dean, who had twisted his fingers tightly in his brother's shirt sleeve, finally let go and relaxed back into the mattress. Sam huffed, rubbing at eyes that threatened to close.

John's hand tightened around the doorknob as he forced himself to stay hidden in the darkness. He didn't deserve his sons. Always gone, off 'protecting' others, searching for Mary's killer- all while his boys stayed home raising themselves, looking after each other because their father didn't. John bit at his lip in self-hatred. Mary would be so proud of them, and more than likely ready to divorce him.

Looking up, he saw Sam climb into bed beside his brother, leaning back against the headboard. Even asleep Dean sensed Sam and moved towards him. John's lips quirked at Sam's snort, and watched with some envy as the older boy immediately calmed when Sam began to thread his fingers through Dean's cropped hair, sighing in content. Continuing the soothing motion Sam let his head fall back at an awkward angle, and within minutes both brothers were snoring.

Backing away from the scene as quietly as he could, John slipped back downstairs to get something to eat that would stop the ache in his stomach. He spent the next five hours filling up page after page in his hunter's journal with as much useful information regarding Poltergeists as his tired brain would allow him. And it was only when he found himself focusing more on holding the pen than actually writing that he decided it was time for some much needed sleep. Flicking off the kitchen lights and stumbling his way tiredly up the stairs, John decided to check on his boys before heading off to bed.

Sam was slumped against the headboard, no longer snoring, but appearing more comfortable than he had earlier, with the addition of a small pillow supporting his neck. He must've woken up during the night to check on Dean, because the lamp was off as well.

_Something _you_ should be doing, _not_ your thirteen year old son, _John thought bitterly.

Dean was mumbling in his sleep and kicking at the covers, his face pressed to Sam's leg. John stepped into the room, moving straight to his oldest. Unraveling the covers that had become twisted around Dean's legs, John smoothed them out, and the kicking ceased. But the mumbling continued, soft and nearly indiscernible.

"Quiet, Dino," John whispered, warm hand resting on cool skin. Fever had broken. _Good job, Sammy_.

Dean's mumbling stopped and his brow furrowed as he turned away from Sam, instead leaning into the comforting hand of his father. John was sure his heart skipped a beat. It had been so long, _too long_, since he had so much as said a kind word to the boy (_not a boy, nearly an adult_). He couldn't keep the tears from gathering in his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. He leaned down and kissed his son's cheek, watching in amazement as Dean's tense features smoothed out and he slipped deeper into sleep.

"Dad?" John looked up. Sam was blearily gazing up at him, a yawn escaping.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm here. You did good, son." He leaned over, pushing Sam's too-long bangs back to kiss his forehead. "Get some sleep, I'll take over watch." His eyes returning to a sleeping Dean.

"'Kay. Night."

Sam slid down the headboard and got as comfortable as one could, sharing a twin bed. John didn't point out that Sam's bed was just feet away. No, Sam wouldn't be leaving Dean's side tonight. Neither would John, for that matter.


End file.
